


Washed Away

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May's usually good at taking care of her body, but things have been hectic and she's let herself get all knotted up. She'll deal with it, because that's what she does. She doesn't expect Phil to notice, or know how good he is with his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washed Away

**Author's Note:**

> for Starkagent's prompt: _May's aching after a long day of hard work, of course she doesn't tell anyone, but Phil's sixth sense is tingling and so he goes to work the tension out of her sore muscles - which she is reluctant to let him do at first... but let's just assume Phil knows what he's doing, and he's doing it well, haha!_

Her neck hurts. That's hardly the worst of it; her abused muscles send electric shocks of pain down down her spine that only add to the anger of all the muscles between her neck and her hips. Before Ward, it was the Berserker staff, and though it makes her stronger and faster, her muscles pay for it. She didn’t cool down right after fighting Ward. She had to fly the plane, get them to the Playground. She could have taken the time to wind down, and didn't. She's done this to herself.

It always hurts more the day after, when her muscles have had the time to recognise how much damage has been done. Simmons could give her a fancier explanation, about how lactic acid builds up faster in her muscles than her body can get rid of it. What she's acutely aware of this evening is that she hurts, and she doesn’t have time to deal with it now. 

The plane needs to be repaired and retrofit for their new mission. Ward’s things need to be moved from his bunk and she wants to save Skye and Phil the pain of that betrayal again. Melinda boxes up his things, folding his clothes, sorting through what little he has. She puts all of it in a case, labels it with an inventory and hands it to Billy to store. Phil’s so buried in his new responsibilities as director of what remains of S.H.I.E.L.D. that he barely looks up when she passes his makeshift office. 

With Ward’s things gone, Melinda runs through her tai chi routine, taking it slowly, trying to stretch out the more abused muscle groups, but everything still aches. She can’t retreat to the shower and then bed because there’s so much that needs to be done. She showers quickly, only taking the time she needs to clean herself instead of lingering. With her hair still wet on her back, she sets her mind to the next task, checking the plane for Hydra spy technology, and tries to bury herself in that. 

Crawling through the cramped spaces of the plane is the last thing her knotted muscles want, but she needs to check the plane. Hydra could have snuck anything on board. They checked for active signals, but Hydra hid in SHIELD for decades. They know how not to be seen. She loses track of time in the electronics of the cockpit, working her way back from the nose of the plane. 

Phil’s waiting by her feet when she crawls out. She’s not expecting him and fails to hid a grimace. 

“Sore?”

She gives him a look, then rolls her eyes. Of course she's sore. She took on four HYDRA super soldiers with that damn staff, then Ward tried to kill her, and Skye. 

He offers her a hand up and she stands quickly, burying her discomfort. He has enough to worry about. Pain passes and she’ll be fine in a few days. Her body always recovers, given time. Time is precious, and they all need some now. They’ve lost Ward, perhaps they’ve lost Fitz and she can’t fight a coma. She can check the plane and keep them safe that way. Phil understands that. 

"I brought you some tea."

He offers her the mug and the sweet scent of it floats up. 

Melinda smiles at him. "Thanks."

"Find anything?" 

Shaking her head, she takes the tea. "Nothing."

"That's good, right?" 

She shrugs, then blows across the surface of her tea, letting the heat sink into her hands. Phil patched up her knuckles last night, and the bruises Ward gave her are healing. The one on her jaw's gone a deep purple but it's nothing compared to the bruises on her ribs. They'll be black before they fade. "I'd rather find something."

"They may not have taken the time to mess with the Bus. Garrett had other things on his mind."

"The still ocean of the universe?"

"Something like that." He inclines his head towards his office. "You have a minute?"

He's tried to decompress, but there's so much they need to deal with. Garrett was his friend, so was Ward, and betrayal cuts him deep. There are things she should say, but they'll wait. She'd rather listen. 

"Sit," Phil says, dragging his chair from behind the desk. He turns it backwards and offers it to her. She only hisses slightly when she sits, conquering the pain of her muscles for the moment. Instead of speaking, he reaches for her neck. His touch begins light, reaching up through her hair. When she doesn't pull away, he presses harder. Running his thumbs down her neck, Phil eases the tension out of her upper vertebrae. 

"You don't have to--" her protest ends in a gasp. Pressure at the base of her skull makes lights spark behind her eyes and she can't remember the last time anything felt that good.

"I know. You're fine." His hands work their way down, smoothing exhausted muscles until her head seems to float. "Let me help." 

Her hands move slowly, and she starts to unbutton her shirt. Phil opens her collar and his fingertips run along her collarbones. He finds the small muscles, parts of her she had forgotten even hurt. In the quiet, they take off her shirt together, baring more of her skin to his touch. She breathes in, filling her lungs, before she lets go. There's so much darkness. Melinda knows it's the aftereffects of the Berserker staff, making her memories sharp like razors. She can control it, save it, feed on it, but it takes so much. 

Phil moves her bra straps out of the way and she follows the heat of his fingers. Unhooking the back of her bra, she lets it fall away, exposing all of her back to his hands. He explores her body, melting tension away as he goes. He follows her ribs, works up and down her spine, and uses his elbow to get that spot out of her shoulder. 

She curses, which makes him laugh. 

"I've had some lessons in the last couple years." 

Hissing as she catches her breath, Melinda squirms but he keeps her where she is. "From sadists?"

"A mild one."

Clinging to the back of the chair, she loses herself in the slow rhythm of his hands, falling away. Audrey must have taught him. She wants to ask and doesn't because he's lost her and Melinda doesn't want to remind him. She's not like Audrey. She doesn't have that kind of grace and she can't offer him dinners and normalcy. 

Tracing her scars, Phil takes such care with her damaged ribs that her eyes sting. No one has been- she never allows anyone- this close, not when she's vulnerable. She let Ward in further than she planned and that was dangerous. Phil could destroy her, and he has. 

Turning in his office chair, she lowers his hands from her shoulders and holds them in hers. 

"It is better, isn't it?" 

Nodding wearily, she strokes his cheek. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He sits on the sofa across from her and all that's between them is the back of his chair. She drags herself a little closer, sliding in between his legs. 

"I hadn't planned on it."

"You weren't going to tell tales of my magic fingers?"

"Depends what other tricks you have up your sleeves." She unbuttons his cuff, then moves to the buttons along his stomach. Phil waits while she tugs his shirt free. His scar waits over his heart and Melinda rests her hand on it, feeling his heart beat beneath the raised skin. 

“Melinda--“

“Are you going pull rank, Director?”

He winces. “Don’t call me that.”

"Not ready?"

He covers her hand on his chest with his own, holding her fingers close against him. "How could I be ready?"

She wants to hug him, to hold him close and promise that he can do everything Fury's asked of him. That self-doubt is normal, maybe even healthy, but he is the person to take this on. She believes in him. He knows that, doesn't he?

"You'll be great. Not perfect, but great."

Phil smiles at that. He leans forward. He's close enough that she could kiss him or he could kiss her, if one of them wanted to make that move. The space between them yawns, huge and unending, even though she's already topless and he's half way there and no one's going to come looking for them, not tonight. She doesn't lose control. It's not who she is. When she kisses him, it's because she's made a conscious choice that this is what she wants. His mouth opens, letting her deepen the kiss, taking him over. He touches her shoulder, then strong fingers grab her back. 

She stands, then spins the chair out from beneath her, sending it back towards the desk. Lowering herself onto his lap, she tugs his shirt open, then down his shoulders. Phil slips out of it, baring his skin. She knows how he got that little scar under his rib, and she's the one who stitched it. He holds her waist, and kissing is a more mutual effort. He pushes her back, meeting her with hunger. Their home is gone. The organisation that took so many years of their life needs them to save it, to revive it, and that should be their priority, yet here they are. Maybe it's the familiarity they have with each other that makes this so necessary. She'd follow him anywhere on Earth, or the Nine Realms if it came to that. Trusting him comes as easily as her heartbeats. 

She trusts him with this. Maybe even trusts herself. She's different now, more resilient, more understanding of how she can be herself and do her job. It only took years of paperwork and a team that needed her. 

A family that she needed back. 

They can balance this. They have to, because now that her hips grind against his, she can't stop. She can fight down her rage; she does that every day, but this is more primal. This is deeper. She's afraid to put it in words, even in the quiet of her mind, but he knows. They both know what this is. Perhaps it was inevitable. Two objects falling out of orbit, becoming one body, one mass. Running her hands down his spine, she smiles. 

"I could get used to your kind of foreplay."

He smiles but there's a hint of sorrow. He never meant for them to be here, he wouldn't treat her like that. She regrets the joke when the pain flits across his face. "I never--"

"I know. You wouldn't." She kisses him until the self-reproach fades from his eyes. "If anything, I'm seducing you."

Chuckling, he shifts beneath her, changing the angle of their hips so the promise of heat burns through her clothes. Her knees dig into the sofa, closing the space between them. He strokes her breast, then presses his lips against her skin. His mouth teases, circling her nipple without touching it. She nibbles his shoulder, pressing his skin with her teeth. Phil shifts and that little thrust beneath her makes her shiver. Sex is easy, uncomplicated. This threatens everything, this breaks her rules, gets too close, too intimate, and she can't stop, not with him beneath her and those eyes waiting for her to lead them. 

He's the director now, but he'll wait, he'll listen to the hum in the back of her throat, the sigh of pleasure when his tongue finds her neck. 

"You've always had me."

She lost him when he was dead. She respected what he had with Audrey. She likes seeing him happy and she couldn't- one can't love without a soul, but she's here, he's here and she's patched. Melinda can't be whole, not with Bahrain echoing in her soul. She's been an open wound, letting her humanity weep and drown. She'll never be what she was, but neither will he with the horror of T.A.H.I.T.I. within him. They walk the knife's edge together, wondering when they'll fail to be human, when they'll crack.

"I want you," he whispers, tangling his hands in her hair. 

She stands and strips, first her boots, then pulling her trousers off smoothly. She kneels in front of him, lifting his hips to side off his trousers. They'll be rumpled because he loves his suits, but beneath his shorts, he's hard and waiting. She licks along his length, teasing. He squeezes her breast in response, impatient. Who knows how much time they have? Someone could walk in, or it could all go to hell. Phil guides her closer, touching just close enough to her bruises to make her gasp before she guides him inside of her. She takes a moment, watching his eyes darken as his breath catches like hers. She's more than ready, and he slides deep because she's can be just as impatient. 

His hands grab her hips and she tilts, adjusting the angle of him within her until sparks threaten behind her eyes. She wants to look away, she usually looks away, but with him, she drowns in his eyes. He rises to meet her when she pulls away, and she allows herself the tiny sounds of pleasure, of wanting, that she usually holds back. 

He loves her weaknesses. He holds her close, kissing the tear she won't speak of but doesn't brush away. She arches her back, then crumples because he knows exactly what to do with his fingers. He does have tricks. 

She moans into his shoulder, then kisses him, hard, even clumsy. It's hard to think and she wants him to share in her abandon. Melinda kisses his cheek, then stops, her damp forehead pressed to his. She tightens her internal muscles, drawing him in, making it impossible for him to continue because she has tricks too. 

"You're safe," she whispers, her words rough. "You're still here. You're still you." He's nothing like Garrett. There's no megalomania in him, no desire to rule the world. Phil will always try to save it, but that's why she loves him. He doesn't give up. 

"I know you," she reminds him. His breath falters and he clutches her tight. 

Holding each other in silence, they melt together, damp and satiated. 

"The sofa--"

She shakes her head and slips off of him. Fantasy never shows the sticky realism of sex, but Phil worries about the Bus, because it's a nice plane. Melinda pulls on her clothes, letting them absorb the mess on her skin. He catches her and kisses her when she tries to wipe down the sofa. It's been treated to protect it from drinks, and blood, but there's a professional courtesy they owe to the next person to sit there. 

They kiss better than they clean, and she pins his arm, laughing, long enough to be happy with the state of his office. She's wet between her legs, still hot from him and desire. 

"We need to shower."

Phil clears his throat. "We'll get distracted."

She smirks. "Maybe." 

He nods and the hint of colour in his face makes him that much more precious to her. "My room's on the end. Koenig gave me my own bathroom." 

"I'll get clothing."

Habit turns their motions into an OP. She grabs clean pyjamas, something no one will question seeing her in tomorrow, and towels. He raids the kitchen and thoughtfully leaves the food on the table at the side of the bed. Melinda turns down the sheets as the shower starts. She's already had one today, but this is different. This time she smiles and lets him lick water from her thigh. 

When he makes her collapse against the wall, barely able to stand, he carries her out and they finish on the bed. Wet towels lay on the floor with their scattered clothing. Beside the closed door of his room, they let go of saving the world, of the team they have to protect, of the organisation they have to build. She curls around him and he pulls her arms to his chest. 

It's comfortable, familiar; something she could want, even need. His breath lulls her to sleep and she'll deal with that tomorrow.


End file.
